


softly, silently, gone

by grains_of_saturn



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grains_of_saturn/pseuds/grains_of_saturn
Summary: There, in Altissia, you wait to make your move. It doesn't hurt to allow yourself distractions, every once in a while.





	

The one thing that nobody understands is just how _bored_ you are. You don't mention it; they wouldn't understand.

In private moments, with glasses of honey-colored liquid poured and shared between small gatherings of individuals, you might laugh - " _I've seen too much,_ " you say, and they laugh in turn, nodding their recognition, leaving you to marvel at the human capacity for solidarity. What is it that they've seen that they think they can even _begin_ to compare to you...? But, that would be too complicated, and would give away too much. There is a certain power in appearing eccentric, foppish, _harmless_. That seems like a very open falsehood - you don't become high chancellor by being _harmless_ \- but it is still of some value to you. Be capricious, unpredictable, _unknowable_.

Lives come and go before you like actors on a stage. The endless passage of time lost meaning long ago; empires and kings rise and fall before your eyes, and you turn your back on it all, as it once did to you. That, too, is like a dream; a memory that only you recall, history untold. An old story that not only went unrecorded, but was actively sabotaged--... _but that was such a very, very long time ago_. The average layperson of Eos knows little of the struggles made between gods and humans. Darkness has stained your every waking movement for long enough that it could qualify as myth, but it is not immediately obvious, and is thus easily discounted.

There is a light that burns in Lucis; the life of its prince is barely a drop in the ocean compared to the years you've endured, but you have felt the clock tick past each one of those years with an anticipation you fully thought you'd forgotten how to feel. _He's the one_ , you just know it.

_He's the one--!_

You can't act too quickly, though. You know that much. It's been _so long_ , what's the harm in another handful of months...? The prince can continue on his merry road trip for as long as he likes. It can't go on forever. Nothing lasts forever; there is still, within you, some small part that wants to believe that. _Needs_ to believe that.

It is easier to get close to the prince and his retinue than it should be. Almost laughably so. Those around him are undoubtedly skilled, but few in number. You approach them directly, sometimes; they suspect you, _as well they should_ , but they also have such a charming sense of honor about them. If you don't give them any reason to attack, then they can do no more than speculate. You smile at their hesitation, the conflict of _he's helping us, but--_. Always waiting for the one action that will surely justify their _simply baseless_ conjecture.

Altissia will be the backdrop for that. You arrive to find them still dawdling; _it must be nice,_ you think, _to think that you have all the time in the world._

Here, as elsewhere, it is easy to gently separate Prompto from the group. A simple task, as it ever was. He is loyal to Noctis, more than anything; but almost as much as that, he is also naive. You suspect that you know more about him than he knows himself, but you keep those cards close to your chest, for now. He's earnest and steadfast, but easily-impressed. Youthful urges, without the experience to back them up. Still at the stage of wide-eyed surprise that anybody would look his way, even for a moment.

Playing with something - some _one_ \- like that is too easy, but you're biding your time. This could be useful. You treat him with care, to draw him in. Mark further that disconnect between _he's the high chancellor of Niflheim--_ and _but he seems nice--_. Again, give him no reason to doubt you. You know his type; he'll turn the doubt on himself, and something further could be grown from that, too. _In time, in time_.

It is easy to impress, also, in Altissia. Insomnia certainly had its charms, but Altissia is a place for the casual elite. High-class eating establishments, lavish hotels with sweeping views of the surrounding vista... Prompto looks out of place because he feels out of place, but all the better to tease him with. He mixes up the forks, but you're there to correct him, so no harm done. He knows no distinction between names on the wine list, but that's just one more excuse to exercise your knowledge. Give someone enough wine and all differences become meaningless, in the end.

He's drunk enough to keep saying - laughing as he does so - that this is a bad idea, but apparently not enough (or just enough?) to stop himself from following your lead. You take a gondola trip to the edge of the city, to a hotel that you suggest. You tell him to take his photos; _won't the others like to see where you've been?_ Focused on that, he doesn't notice as you slip his phone from him, change all alerts to _silent_. It isn't late, but you are sure that those friends of his will worry, eventually. Better to kick loose with no distractions. You're happy to keep him distracted.

"... We mustn't keep doing this," he says, knelt naked on the opulent centerpiece bed. And yet, you have; that first time was almost undoubtedly _his_ first time, nervous and blushing and _malleable_. That was some time ago, now; barely a blink to you, of course, but established over a long enough period of time that he will now follow you to hotels, undress himself, _present himself to you_.

He seems quiet, afterward. _Is this your self-preservation kicking in...?_ You nudge him with words, coaxing his troubles out of him. He speaks with his head lowered, barely daring to look up at you as he does so; every once in a while he almost dares-- but then his line of sight darts elsewhere.

"Would it--... be a terrible thing... if, uh..."

"Go on...?"

He clenches his fists, apparently finding a rush of confidence from _somewhere_. He looks at you, then, the blue of his eyes seeming piercing in the soft light of the room.

"I--... I think I'm in love with you--! Is that terrible?"

The latter question could have been self-deprecating, but the flare of determination still burns in his expression - enough so that you almost want to laugh. _Oh, to be young--!_ You don't know where that statement comes from, or what thought processes have led Prompto up to this point. You only wish you could reveal yourself on the spot, to show this boy the sheer breadth of his mistake, but again, _there will be time for that; this is not that time_. Instead, you lean forth to stroke his cheek, your smile as benevolent as ever.

"I think it is, you know. Quite the prospect. Would that, however, make it unworthy of pursuit...?"

 _He's floundering_. "Uh--..."

You shift your weight to pin him to the bed, and move your hand to his throat, thumb pressed deep beneath his chin. Hardly a stranglehold, but at the very least, a statement of intent. "I think there are many potential reasons for you to regret this union, but few that would bear any current interest. I would say, perhaps, that it isn't always best to follow strange men into bed, Prompto."

Your tone, your words, and your hand (now around his neck, pressing harder) all confuse him; he frowns and tries to speak, but you're making that difficult for him. You laugh, then, as if he has pleased you.

"And rest assured; I am, really, rather strange." You withdraw your hand; he takes a gasping breath in response. "So, yes: I think it is terrible." You lean in closer, breathing your amusement against his skin. "I think, also, that that makes this all the more rewarding. Don't you?"

He can't answer that, you know that much. You're keeping him in the dark; of _course_ he can't. To think that _he thinks_ that he's in love with you - the spark of amusement there is unlike any you've felt for so long, you'd practically abandoned the feeling. Isn't this the natural conclusion? He knows nothing, and so can only act on the knowledge that he has. And to say something like _that--!_... You spend so much of your time feeling only boredom, but here and there, on occasion, lies a point of interest. It would have been possible to go to Noctis directly, _but sometimes the scenic route is better_. There's something quite delicious in knowing Prompto's feelings, and _knowing_ how they will change in the near future. There, again, _conflict_.

But, for now, you know you are safe to leave Prompto's uncertain feelings as just that, only a _feeling_. You let him go in the morning, after countless messages on his phone from all three of his companions. You watch as they reunite, keeping yourself hidden, taking back to the shadows. There is enough guilt and doubt there that you suspect Prompto might lie about his whereabouts up to that point. Even if he tells the truth, that still serves as an adequate announcement as to your arrival in the city. _Will you be on your guard? Oh, I do hope so_.

Despite all of that, Prompto thinks that he _loves_ you. You take back to one of Altissia's quieter bars, calculating when best to make your move. That sentiment itself is nothing to do with anything, but it is almost quite _fascinating_. You lost the capability to love long ago, and there is no part of you left that can be loved; the thought is laughable, and so you laugh, quietly, to yourself. And you hear the whispers of patrons around you - _they say that Lady Lunafreya is being protected by the Accordian government--! She's being kept, here, in Altissia!_

_She's still alive?! But I thought I heard--_

Ignoring those voices around you, you order yourself another drink.


End file.
